Missing
by Princeoftheundead
Summary: Harry Potter is a lost name, a celebrity forgotten. It seems as though Draco is the only one who still remembers him. A note written on what appears to be human flesh drives Draco into the depths of Hell, where he encounters a mental unstable, tortured Harry. Both are forced into a deadly game of hid n' go seek, one where the loser dies. Not for the faint of heart of stomach!
1. Help me

_I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from it. _

_Warning to all readers, blood, gore, guts, mental disturbities, some extremely scary shit! Swearing, horror, all of that. If you are looking for some hard core horror, this is it, if you were looking for some fluff with some scary stuff inbetween, this is not it. Please, do not read if you have a weak stomach, it gets worse as we go along. If you're still here, well, I hope you enjoy it and review ^^_

A tear of black caressed a hollowed cheek, a trail of red left to stain the ashen skin. It caught on a quivering chin where it trembled softly before falling into the abyss below. Instead of shattering against cold stone it broke through the surface of a black sea of tears. A small sound, one of a bell, echoed throughout. The tear transformed into the brilliant red of blood, which was soon taken over by the despair of black.

A silence that sounded louder than words, then a whisper as broken and soft as the crying wind. "Isn't someone missing me…?"

Pale lashes jumped open to reveal the soft eyes of a stormy night. Fluttering like hesitant wings of a butterfly, light lashes forced tempestuous eyes to swim in and out of existence. A hand that might have been made of marble due to its deathly parlor and fingers that would have made a sculptor swoon brushed fairie blonde locks away from troubled eyes before falling onto the green hues of the pillow below.

"Harry…" the whispered name left shell pink lips, turning into a sigh before the word had fully left.

Again he had been plagued by dreams of the once famous boy who lived. Since the final battle Harry Potter had slowly faded out of existence until his name was nothing more than that, a name. Harry Potter had left the minds of nearly all, even his friends. Sometimes it felt as though he was the only one who still remembered who Harry Potter was, and that was only due to the haunting nightmares that ravaged his dreams.

"Damnit…" he sighed, sitting up to look at the rays of the sun that fringed the curtains to create a soft haze of dust motes and sunlit hues.

_Twilight zone much,_ he thought, still not having shaken off the total effects of sleep. He stretched and yawned widely before flinging his pale green blankets off and slouching over to his closet. What to wear, what to wear, what to, damn… he had to go to the ministry today to examine an Auror who had been hit by a particularly bad hex and needed some sort of healing potion. Apparently nothing else had worked so far. This is what he got for being the head of the potions department on St. Mungo's. Oh well, nothing he could so about it.

He threw on some black slacks and a white button up shirt. A white lab coat followed of course, even wizards had to be professional. Next he went to the bathroom to freshen up so he looked presentable for human encounter.

"Master Malfoy," came the shrill voice of Merle, one of the three house elves that had stuck around the Malfoy manor after father had been arrested.

"Yes Merle?" he asked as he hurried down the stairs, trying to tie his tie at the same time.

"What would you like for breakfast?" the house elf at his heels asked.

"Um, just some coffee," he said absentmindedly. "Has mother already eaten?"

Merle trembled slightly before gulping and wringing her hands while she stuttered an answer. "T-the l-lady is n-not up y-y-yet…"

He sighed and hung his head before heading right back up the stairs. "I'll be back down in a moment."

Merle called a conformation before heading off to the kitchen, hopefully to make his coffee.

He reached his mother doors in the west wing. She had always loved to watch the sunsets, of course, before what had happened…

Shaking his head of dark thoughts a fist rapped against the doors. A moment of silence, then a drunken groan. Another sigh, the creak of an opening door, mothers slurred protest.

"Mother," he called, hoping that his words would reach her. He approached her bed, nose wrinkling at the strong stench of liquor that grew with each step. Upon reaching the bed he softly shook her shoulder.

"Mother," he tried again. "Time to wake up,"

A groan then the glare of an ice blue eye. Slowly, mother struggled into a technically upright position to better glare at him.

After father had been arrested his mother had fallen into depression. After_ that_ incident she had turned to drink. Now there wasn't a day when she didn't wake up with a raging hangover. Most of his paycheck went to quench her thirst; the other went to groceries and the house elves.

"It's time to wake up mother," he rubbed her back in encouragement. She hung her head in her hands, moaning weakly.

"What time is it?" she managed to get out, slurring slightly.

"Just after seven,"

"Oh god Draco," she fell back in bed. "I love you, but show some mercy," her slur grew worse as she fell back into the waiting arms of a drunken stupor. He sighed and got up, deciding that it was a lost battle. He had heard her raging past midnight, she must be knackered.

Merle was waiting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He smiled tiredly in thanks and grabbed his bag before hurrying out the door, couldn't be late.

"Thank god you're here!" a man exclaimed as he walked through the doors to the Aurors floor. "Theodore is almost gone."

His ears perked at the familiar name and he picked up his pace. He was led to a room. The man he presumed to be Theodore lay on a table, but he was so disfigured with cuts that it was hard to tell.

"What happened?" he demanded as he rushed over to his patient.

"That information is classified." Came the answer.

He ignored it for the time being, only focusing on the patient, he would find out later. Theodore screamed as he completed a quick look over. A sudden gasp as a memory rippled through him, overlapping reality for the time.

Tears streamed down his face. He opened his mouth to yell at whatever intruder dared spy on him, only to be cut off as pain assaulted him. Skin tore and red cried. Soon, a comforting warm enveloped him. He opened his eyes to see professor Snape leaning over him, muttering an incarnation that healed the slashes across his body. A glance up made him flinch. There was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, wand shaking, lips trembling with the weight of the curse just uttered.

"Po…" he tried to form the word, just that one word, but instead sunk into a deep stupor, leaving him with the wide, tear studded eyes of Harry Potter to flicker behind his eyelids.

_It's the same curse_, he realized, staring down at the man before him. If only he knew the counter curse, but only Snape knew that, and Snape had died by Voldemort's hand.

A single shudder ran through him at the memory, but he shook it away. This was no time for the past, he had to act fast or else Theodore would be gone.

He grabbed a calming draught and coaxed it into the screaming lips of his patient, followed by a blood thickener. This would ensure that the blood would clot, which it hadn't so far. True to its nature the cuts were soon bandaged with dried blood. Theodore gave one last whimper before slipping into unconsciousness.

He cursed. The pain from the curse didn't dispel until the cuts were healed and as yet healing spells were ineffective. A hand dug furiously through pale locks before dropping in frustration.

"Will he live?" a voice asked. He didn't bother to see who was speaking, just conjured a cauldron and kindled a fire beneath.

"Yes," he finally answered as he began to brew up a concoction to make the cuts heal.

"What's wrong with him? Will you be able to cure him?"

He sighed impatiently, just who did this man think he was? "Of course I will, it'll just take a few hours to come up with an antidote."

"Antidote?"

"The cuts will not heal with spells, but using some of Theodore's genetic makeup I'll be able to make a specialized antidote to heal them."

"Why not let the cuts heal on their own?"

He sighed, not turning away from his work. "Because, they will not heal naturally. The blood thinker will wear off after twenty four hours and he will continue to bleed till death. In addition, as long as though cuts are still open he will be experiencing intense pain."

There was a long silence and he hoped that the man had gone, but he could still feel the other presence, so his wish was wasted.

He could feel the man start to ask another question, but cut him off. "I will answer all your questions as soon as I leave this to simmer. Now, if you will excuse yourself I'll be able to focus more on my patient."

A pause, then a door opened and closed behind the man. He sighed in relief and bruised himself in his work.

Close to three hours later he emerged into the Aurors den. A small group of worried faces stared back at him.

"He'll live," he said right off the top. "The antidote should be ready in the next hour or so."

A collective sigh of relief shuddered throughout the crowd. The man who had escorted him to Theodore step towards him.

"When will he be able to return to work?"

"And your name is?" he asked. Now that he wasn't faced with life and death he would rather like to know the names of the people talking to him.

"Zakarison," the man presented his last name first before giving the first. "Charlie Zakarison."

Hmm, didn't the Weasley's have a Charlie somewhere? He couldn't remember, then again, it was hard to remember _all_ those names.

"Mind if I just call you Charlie?" he asked.

Charlie nodded, wringing his hands. "Is Theodore going to be okay? No mental, emotional, or physical problems?"

"Well," he began. "I'm not sure how this will affect him mentally, I will come back to check on that though, but physically he should be in peak form. Some lingering effects from the pain, such as sore muscles and such, but give him a few days to rest and he should be good as new."

Charlie sighed, relief visible in his change of posture.

"Now," he tapped his foot slightly, hearing the sharp click of his shoes on tile. "How did this happen?"

"That is classified." Suddenly the faces of everyone there went stony.

"He was hit by an unrecognizable spell, was he not?"

A few sheepish head nods followed. More than a few eyes turned their attention to the ground.

"Well, if I knew what happened I might be able to come up with an antidote." He reasoned.

"Haven't you already come up with an antidote?" Charlie asked with a fear stricken glance to the door.

"I have, but that is an extremely personalized antidote. If any of you get hit by the same curse it would not work for you. In fact, it may even kill you due to the differences in pH balances, weight mass, core makeup, and so on and so forth." He folded his arms, tapping a finger against his bicep.

After an unspoken argument Charlie finally spoke. "Theodore and I were investigating the disappearance of a certain reporter."

"A reporter, what does that have to do with Aurors?" he interrupted, a very bad habit of his.

"The reporter was trying to find the whereabouts of Harry Potter," Charlie paused. "You do remember Harry Potter, right?"

"Yes, yes, the boy who lived. I remember him quite well, we were in the same year together." He said impatiently.

"At first we took no notice in the reporter's disappearance. Most thought that he was just in the Muggle world and had gone undercover. Then others began disappearing."

"Others?" he prompted when Charlie went on no further.

"Yes, others," Charlie sighed. "It seems that nearly everyone who was in the same year as Harry Potter was disappearing. Notices for extended vacations showed up at work. All of the Aurors in that year turned in the forms for an extended vacation, which is why we are missing many of our team. At first we thought it was just some reunion, but then we had some people look into it. There was no reunion, we couldn't track any of our Aurors, there was no trail, no nothing. As far as we can tell, you are the only one from that year who hasn't gone missing."

"Pansy…" he muttered under his breath. He hadn't heard from her in over a month. Was she…?

"Theodore and I followed the trail of the reporter until we stumbled upon… well, I can't remember. We were attacked from behind. Theodore jumped in front of me and took the bulk of the spell. I tried to fight the attacker, but there was no one there. So I dragged Theodore a good ways away and apparted outside the ministry. We tried St. Mungo's first, but nobody knew what he had been hit with."

He took a moment to digest this information before responding. "I'm not sure what the incantation of the spell is, but I can tell you the gist. It's meant to kill the victim by bleeding them to death. The cuts are resistant to any spells besides the counter curse. Intense pain is to prolong the victims suffering. It is a dark magic spell, even if it is unrecorded."

"How do you know so much about it?" Charlie interrupted. He gritted his teeth; even though he had the same habit it was so annoying when it happened to him.

"In my sixth year I was hit with the same curse. I did some research on it only to find there was none. Finally I managed to trace it back to Severus Snape. He explained the properties of the curse but refused to tell the incarnation, insisting that it should die with him. In other words, he created the curse. Only one other person knows of the curse, but, knowing who he is, I am sure that it will die with him."

"How can you be so sure?" Charlie asked. "Shouldn't we find this person and erase their memory of the curse to make sure it passes out of existence. Or, we could use it as a curse to reprimand followers of you know who."

"The curse is one that I would like to die. Though it might be effective against the dark side, it is just as effective against the ministry if fallen into the wrong hands." He reasoned.

"Well, by the sounds of it, it has already fallen into the wrong hands. Theodore was attacked with that curse!" Charlie pointed out, voice rising.

He sighed, damn logic…

"Alright," all of the Aurors looked at him in interest. "The only other wizard who knew the curse was Harry Potter."

"You mean Harry Potter used the curse on you?" an unknown voice in the crowd asked.

He sighed, so many complications. "Yes, but he didn't know what the curse did at the time. He found the curse in Snape's old textbook and tried it out when I was about to curse him."

"Why were you going to curse him?" another unknown voice.

"I was a death eater at the time and I thought he had overheard me talking about the dark lord." Oh god, he did not want to revisit that time again. Besides, wasn't this supposed to be about the curse and such?

There were some nods and a lot of wary glances. A lot of wizards were still wary about the fact that he used to be a death eater.

"So unless Harry Potter was the one who attacked you then I do not know what happened." He shrugged, hoping they would catch his gist.

Charlie frowned thoughtfully. "Do you fully believe that Harry Potter is innocent?"

"Of course, I mean, he is the 'hero'. Defeated the Dark Lord, helped the Muggle born, hell, he even saved my life!" he admitted. "I may not like the guy, but he is a really good guy. Unless he's gone mad since then, I'm pretty sure he didn't attack you."

"We'll investigate this further." One of the Aurors said. "Since you have given us some very valuable information, and have cured Theodore, we'll keep you up to date. Please, work on an antidote that will work on anyone attacked by this curse."

"Alright," he agreed, a bit intrigued at the thought of being keyed into this case. Ever since his father was thrown into prison he and his mother had been out of the loop concerning most things. Most of the time he was too busy working to even pick up any gossip and his mother never left the house anymore. "Now, where was it that you two got attacked?"

"Why do you need to know that?" Charlie asked defensively.

"Well, there might be some of the curses residue lying around. If I can get my hands on that it would be so much easier to come up with an antidote, and possibly even a counter curse."

This gave Charlie a pause. "Alright, we'll take you there when we check out the scene. While we look for evidence to help us you'll look for the curse's residue."

"Alright, now, if you'll excuse me," he turned back to the room. "I need to finish patching up your friend."

He let the door close behind him, glad that no one tried to follow him. The potion was done simmering and emitted a soft purple glow. He quickly stirred it counterclockwise three times and half a stir clockwise. The potion let out a hiss and faded into a red. He ladled a small amount into a vial and brought it over to the still unconscious patient. Gently, he lifted the head and brought the liquid to their lips. After making sure Theodore had swallowed every last drop he turned back to his supplies and began cleaning up. A low moan behind him told him that Theodore was awake.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he walked back over.

Theodore gave a soft cough and clutched at his stomach before answering. "I ache,"

"That is to be expected." He informed the other. "You're going to feel a bit sore, a lot of headaches, and most likely nauseated for a few days. But don't worry; you'll be alright in no time. As far as I can tell you have no mental liabilities. Just let me give you the once over and I'll be one my way."

Theodore stayed silent as he completed the checkup. When he was done he grabbed his stuff and called Charlie in. After reassuring both of them that Theodore would be alright he went on his way.

He headed straight for home, St. Mungo's have already owled him that he should take the rest of the day off. Perhaps he could finally finish those reports that always seemed to stack up.

Merle was waiting at the door for him. She had a frightened look on her face that set off a series of alarms.

"Is something wrong with mother?" he asked, already heading towards the stairs. If mother had gotten into one of her fits again…

"No, no, no, Master Draco, please wait!" Merle struggled to keep up with him. He paused, one foot on the first stair.

"Then what is it?" he asked, confused.

"It's this," with a shaky hand she held out a letter to him. He blinked in surprise. A letter, now who would send them a letter?

He grabbed the letter from Merle and looked at the address. There it was, addressed to him, Draco Malfoy. There was no return address though.

He coked his head to the side and quickly tore off the top, only pausing after to hope that it wasn't booby trapped. Luckily, it wasn't. Inside was what looked like a note, but when he picked it up it didn't feel that way. It felt like, dried flesh… he shook his head at the absurd thought and flipped the note over. Two words were etched onto the back in what looked like blood. Gooseflesh erupted over the course of his skin and his breath caught.

The shaky were_, help me_, glared up at him. There was no signature to tell who the owner of this letter was. He studied the words closer, and then gasped, almost dropping the note as her realized who it belonged to.

But no, it couldn't be. And even if it was why would they send him a letter. They hated him, or so he thought.

He stared at the note again, eyes drinking in those two words until they flickered behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

"Potter…"


	2. Potter?

A week later and he, once again, found himself within the Aurors apartment. After a few days of rest Theodore was as good as new and a party had been assembled to scout for clues where the attack had taken place. Charlie had owled him telling him to be here at 5 in the morning. So here he was, miserable at 4: 49 am, clutching a cup of coffee in his hands.

"This is a simple mission, no confrontation or such," Charlie filled him in. "After we scout out the premises we'll be on our way. Hopefully you'll get everything you need in that amount of time."

He waved a hand, brushing away the others half felt concern. "Alright, alright, I'll be fine. It'll only take a couple of minutes for me to work my magic," he collapsed his hand on his coffee mug, taking a tentative sip. Oh dear mother of merlin, what would he do without coffee!  
"Be ready in five," Charlie told him before walking off.

He nodded and checked his bag, making sure he had all his supplies. Vials… check, important ingredients… check, coat in case it was freezing… check. He was good to go. He knocked back the rest of his coffee, even bearing the bitter dredges at the bottom, and set the cup down.

"Ready to go?" Charlie asked as he walked over.

He nodded. "Yup,"

"Alright, we'll be doing side along apparition, hope you don't mind."

He froze before forcing a nod. "Yeah, whatever…"

Ever since the incident he had troubles with others touching him. He was fine with touching someone else, but as soon as someone touched him… Well, he would just have to bear through it.

Charlie grabbed his arm, earning a flinch and a near murder. "You alright?" Charlie asked, noticing his reaction.

He shook his head thoroughly. "Yeah, yeah, just fine,"

Charlie gave him a doubtful look but questioned no more. The next moment felt as though he was being squeezed through a cage, his breath being cut off. He closed his eyes, hating the discomfort that came with side along apparition. In less than a minute it was over. He pulled away from Charlie as though the touch scalded him, hoping the other man would not draw offensive from his action, but at the same time not caring.

He looked around and found that it took a moment before the scene sunk in. It was a twilight woods. A deep blue, almost purple light filtered through dense woods. Ivy crept up dark trees. Bare branches created a spider web allusion across the sky, forming a cage.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking at the others in the group.

"We're not exactly sure. It's not on any of the maps." Theodore shrugged, Charlie nodding in agreement.

"Alright, fan out, look for any evidence that might help," the team leader said. All the Aurors grabbed their buddies and went their separate ways.

He sighed, realizing he would be alone, and then shivered at the heavy fog hanging in the air. There seemed to be no life, a land of the dead. He shivered again at that thought and shook the thought from his mind. No spooking himself this early on.

A quick spell directed him to where the last curse was cast. By the spell signature it seemed to be the same curse that had struck Theodore. Now to make the potion.

In record time a bubbling cauldron sat over a crackling fire. As he sat back to let it boil he let his eyes wander. There were no animals, birds, insects, or anything alive except for the ivy. The silence was a tangible thing. There was no other sound besides him, and even the small scuffling he made was seemed muted.

_Dead…_

He scolded himself at thinking such a thing. This place was not dead; it just wasn't fully alive either. Damn, he wasn't one to get spooked easily, but this place made him jumpy. It was like someone was watching him, yet there was no one there.

_Get it together Draco_, he told himself, _get it together._ Now that he thought about it, it was almost peaceful. No demands, no one dying, no one screaming, no one telling him to do this or that. He could get use to this. It was, dare he say, nice…

Then the screaming began.

At first he thought it was his imagination, the sound gone almost as soon as it had come. Then in came again, a blood curdling scream of fear and pain. He whirled around just in time to see a dark figure running towards him. Though the screaming stopped the figure grew closer. He drew his wand, ready to attack. The figure was a bare twenty paces before he could tell who it was.

"Theodore…" his wand dropped to his side and he took a step forward, wondering what was wrong. His lips opened to voice the thought only to be ushered into silence at the sight that befell him.

Theodore was stumbling towards him. A root reached up and snagged Theodore's ankle, drawing a thin stream of blood. As the other man fell more roots sprang free from their graves to feast upon flesh and blood. He watched in grisly dismay as Theodore was torn to shreds. Blood splattered his robes, staining his pale face. Lips that had once clung to the soft shape of an unspoken question now held the lingering warmth of a dying breath.

A fine trembling spread throughout him. He stood there, a quivering leaf caught amongst a forest of blood. A root, still hungry for the tang of flesh, grabbed at his ankle. A look down revealed root biting into his skin, blood coating his ankles. He screamed the first curse that sprang to mind. The root caught on fire, singing him too, but releasing the vile monsters hold. He bolted in the opposite direction, hoping to find a way out of this horror

Then, it hit him, this was all a dream. He stumbled, finding himself perched on hands and knees at his revelation. A dream, that's what this way. There was no way that trees could come to life. And then he remembered; magic. Damn…

As quick as that everything was drawn into clarity. Every tree, every wisp of fog, every snapped twig, was drawn into such a lucidity that it hurt. It was as though he had been underwater and was seeing the real world for the first time. In the distance he could see the black blotches of people. The other Aurors!

"Charlie!" he yelled, the only name that could, would, come to mind. A dozen heads turned his direction at his yell. As he came closer he could make out individual faces, each that carried the same expression of mild surprise.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked as he stumbled to a halt.

He was a wheezing mess as he tried to spit out the answer while gulping in air. "Theodore… the trees… shadows…"

"What about Theodore?" Charlie asked, suddenly very keen for information.

"The trees, they tore him apart…" he finally managed to get out. "I tried to help, but… it was too late, it all happened so fast."

Charlie's expression was that of one flipping a switch. Such sorrow and grief reflected in those eyes that there was nothing to do but feel sorry for him.

A cry of surprise brought snapped his attention back to the future, snapping the spell of silence. He turned around just in time to see a bloodied tree root coming towards him, aimed at his heart. His lips parted in surprise, no noise passing them. There was no time to dodge, move, or even blink. All he could do was stand there dumbly and wait for his sure death.

His vision disappeared in a sea of red instead of the black abyss he had been expecting. He was falling, falling. Everything around him disappeared, noise ceased to exist. So this was death. He always knew he would die, but never like this. _I guess this is it…_

And then he hit the ground.

The world came rushing back. Screams and the awful sound that a bathtub makes as you pull out the plug, only this time it was roots pulling out of human flesh, and it echoed in his ears. He blinked, red still tinting his vision, and looked to see why we wasn't dead, only to scream as he found a dead Charlie on his lap. Apparently Charlie had sacrificed his body for him, but why.

There was no time for questions as he soon found. The other Aurors were still alive and fighting, the air surging with magic as sparks dances from the tip of wands. He hurried to his feet, drawing his wand and throwing a curse. Fire attached itself to an oncoming root, driving it back. He made to yell another incantation, but was cut off as a root came from behind to… restrain him. He struggled but two more roots grabbed at his arms, locking him in place.

There was nothing he could do but watch the horror unfolding before him. The Aurors put up a good fight. Still, one by one they fell with only puddles of blood and chucks of flesh to show that they had once been. An Auror sent a patronus out to call for help. The ghostlike rabbit scampered away quickly, dodging away from the bloodied roots that reached towards it. He thought the rabbit would make it; it had nearly disappeared, but then the wraithlike smoke of a patronus. It trampled the rabbit, causing it to dissipate with a cry that rivaled on human. The other patronus snorted once as it came into focus. A horse, it was a horse…

Wait, didn't that girl have a horse patronus…? What was her name? The horse snorted, drawing his attention. His eyes widened in shock as the horse started towards him. He tried to move but to no avail.

The horse came closer and closer until… everything crashed and burned and dark flames swallowed him whole.

The world flickered into existence, reluctant to show itself. Finally he blinked away the last of the muddle mess and sat up.

"What happened…?" he asked slowly, trying to make sense of the mess of memories that had begun swim through his mind.

Horses, blood, trees, blood, screaming, what the hell?

He clutched his head and sat up, only to realize he wasn't in his bed. In fact, he had no idea where he was. This woke him up more thoroughly than a bucket of water could. Muddled memories screamed at him, putting themselves in place. His head wiped back and forth, searching for any clue to where he might be.

It was a dimly lit corridor. Everything was stone, the walls, ceiling, floor, everything. Light beckoned from the right, calling to him. The right was a pulsing darkness, one that screamed bad place. Left it was.

Since he wasn't an idiot he held his wand at the ready and ventured cautiously towards the light. The hallway was much longer than he thought, but he finally got there.

The room he entered into dried his mouth with nerves. It was a lake with a rock within the middle, a boat anchored to shore. A mock reminder of Voldemort's cave in which he hide on his horcruxs. Suppressing a shiver he looked around for another door, not surprised upon finding that across the lake was the only way out. He examined the rock in the middle, trying to figure out what was its importance. Was it just to spook whoever came or did it hold some importance? He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

He turned his attention to the lake. It was black, as black as night. No light dared reflect in its depths, nothing dared disturbed the surface. There could be anything lurking in those inky depths, but damn, there was no way to avoid the lake. He thought about turning around, but gave up hope once he saw that the entrance he had come from had vanished.

Well, fuck, wasn't this the greatest day of his life? Oh God, he needed sleep. His mind actually thought this situation as amusing, amusing Damnit! Oh, damn psyche, always out to kill him.

He made to get in the boat but froze, his gaze being drawn to the rock in the middle. As he watched a red drop, almost black, tumbled into the lake, shining the red of death before being taken over. He squinted, trying to see where the drop had come from, but it was no use. Whatever was on that rock had some sort of charm on it.

The boat teetered a bit as he boarded it but soon was steady under his feet. He grabbed the oars and pushed off, heading towards the rock in the middle of the lake. He had a hunch that he had to go there to see what evils that held before getting out of this hellhole. Let's get on with it…

The boat glided smoothly across the water, only coming within the danger of tipping once. Soon, he had hit the rock, jolting forward as the impact ran through him. He hopped onto the rock, tethering the boat to the stone, and climbed over the small mountain that hid whatever lay beyond.

A small, hunched over say there. Their hands were bound behind their back, kneeling with feet bound too. A head was hung, black hair hiding a face. The skin was pale and he noticed that the figure was naked. He thought it was a boy but he couldn't be certain. All he could see was a spiny back, which had two snakes that looked as though they had been carved into the skin then healed over. The two snakes entered around the middle, curling around each other until they came to a rest, heads touching, at the base of the neck. That was odd…

Slowly, he made his way towards the figure. He thought about calling about but decided against it, didn't want to spook them too badly. He let them see him first, show that he meant no harm.

He saw more in fractions. Their arms were covered in burn marks patterned into scales and spread to the neck. The legs were covered in some form of magic that caused black scales to glimmer over them, like water over stone. The torso slowly came into view, proving it was male. Jagged marked from the belly button clawed their way up a malnourished chest. More scales, this time scars, spread from above the heart and worked their way down. Something looked off about their ribcage, which had a few jagged holes tinged with blood. The right arm seemed to be… skinned! Not all of it, but patches of skin had been removed to show the mess of blood and muscle beneath. Finally he worked up the nerve to say something, since they had yet to notice him.

"Hey…" he whispered weakly. That small sound was all that was needed to bring a ghastly face up.

The right ear was missing, a bloodied whole in its place. Burned marks, like grotesque cat whiskers, clung to gaunt cheeks. A long scar from the corner of the left eye ran to the corner of the mouth. The eyes were dead, hollow. The left one remained closed while the other portrayed a cruel imitation of green.

It took a moment but those lips parted and he thought he would hear a yell of some sort, fear, surprise, something, but there was no noise, only those parted lips. Were they a mute too?

He searched that face, wondering why it looked so familiar. Those eyes, or rather that eye, reminded him of someone he knew, someone who should be important but wasn't. Who could it be?

As he studied the face the left eye fluttered open to reveal a gaping black hole. A mass of scars flared into existence, showing their magical natured. The scales of a snake withered across the skin, adding to the surprise in those parted lips. As the magic splayed across the face, a stray wind sent a tuft of black hair into the air before tumbling down again. Now this shouldn't be of any importance, he had barely been paying attention himself, but something had caught his attention. On this skin of this persons forehead clung a scar; a scar holding the shape of a lightning bolt. Soon his surprised matched the face before him and a word tumbled from his lips.

"Potter!"


	3. Madness

He froze, unable to comprehend what he was saying. The great boy who lived, the one who had saved his ass, was starving, weak, and tortured, tied up in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, he no longer felt safe. If something this bad could happen to The Harry Potter, then it could happen to anyone…

He shook his head of such dark thoughts. He could ponder them later, right now he had to get harry free.

"Who did this to you?" he asked as he took a step towards the broken body. Horror seized Harry, forcing him to watch as Harry fell to the ground, wincing horrible as he hit with a dull thunk.

"What are you doing?" he nearly yelled, rushing over to help the fallen figure. Harry just opened his mouth in a silent scream and curled in on himself, or at least, as much as he could. It was only when he saw those thin shoulder trembling did he halt movement.

"Harry…" he whispered, accidently letting the first name slip from his lips. "What's wrong?"

Slowly, green eyes tinted red resurfaced, swimming with tears of the unshed. Raw, naked, and primitive fear danced in those eyes, the quivering lips adding to the absolute fear. He made to touch Harry, gave a comforting touch of some sort, but those eyes sealed away behind lashes and Harry flinched away, as though burned. He had to bit his lip as he saw the left eyelid deflated.

"Harry," he said softly as he withdrew his hand. "What happened?"

That eye reappeared, the left one staying closed. Untold terrors whispered to him as he gazed into those green depths. He couldn't take it, being the coward he lowered his gaze, trying not to show how shaken he was.

"Can you talk?" he finally asked when the silence grew too much. Harry hesitated before shaking his head, eyes falling to the ground.

"Do you know who did this?" another negative. He nodded slowly, trying not to think of ways that this could be worse, there was none by the way.

"H-Potter," he said, catching himself from using the wrong name in the nick of time. That green eye focused on him, unwavering with a hint of fear within. "I need to cut the ropes holding you. That means I'm going to have to touch you, alright?"

He watched as Potter battled with himself. A shudder ran through him as he remembered how much he didn't want to be touched when they rescued him, how much he still didn't want to be touched…

Finally Potter nodded, giving permission. He gave the other a small smile, hoping it was somewhat comforting, before pulling out his wand. At the sight of the wand both of Potter's eyes flew open and those lips parted in a silent scream. Before Potter could hurt himself any further by trying to get away from him he stowed his wand away, figuring he would just cut the bonds with the scalpel he kept in his potions bag.

"Sorry," he apologized as he made his way a bit closer. "I'll use a scalpel instead, like the ones we used in potions."

At the mention of potions Potter's eyes fluttered, the left eye falling shut again, and most of the fear leached away, leaving mistrust. A nod gave him permission. He kneeled and slowly made his way to Potter's hands. He could see Potter tense as he left the others line of sight and when he touched Potter's hand the other winced, as though it actually caused them pain to be touched.

"Just let me cut the rope and then I'll be done," he said, hoping the sound would soothe the other. The scalpel made quick work of the rope, as it fell away though he gasped. He had thought that Potter was holding his right hand in his left, but now that the rope was gone he could see differently. Potter's right hand was cut, severed at the wrist. It looked as though it had been roughly stitched up, yet he could still see bone. The left hand though was nearly as bad. The fingers had been chopped at different places, healed over with magic this time. Some fingers ended at the knuckle while others just had the tips sliced off.

"Who did this to you?" he asked in muted horror as Potter turned to face him. Potter held his right wrist with the remainder of left, head shaking back and forth slowly.

He fought back his revulsion and continued on to free Potter's legs. Several of Potter's toes were gone too, but had been sealed over with magic. He felt sick, wondering how such a thing could happen. Sighing, he stood, holding a hand out to Potter.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Potter gazed at him for a long time before struggling to his feet without help. He knew that Potter wasn't trying to offend him; sometimes the touch of others was just too much. He sighed again, dropping his hand and fighting not to let his head follow.

"This way," he said, leading the way to the boat. For not having many body parts Potter did exceptionally well in following him, never needing help once. He let Potter board the boat before him, catching the nervous glance at the water.

"Is there something down there?" he asked as he climbed into the boat.

Potter froze in indecision before nodding, hunching his shoulders, looking as though he was trying to hide. Potter was once again clutching the severed wrist to his chest. A fine trembling was shaking the broken boy like a leaf.

He looked away, unable to stand it. Suddenly he was hit with an image that he had once seen. When he was little his parents had forced him to learn about Muggle history. His father had been very keen in teaching him about the Holocaust. Right now Potter looked like those broken bodies in the concentration camps. A bag of bones, they were called, their knees the thickest part of their legs, stomachs concave. How he had had nightmares for months after that, waking up screaming all the time. His father had thought him weak and beat him a lot because of that, but whenever his mother was around she always calmed his fears and wiped away his tears.

At the thought of how his mother had once been tears pricked at his eyes. He blinked furiously and began to row, forcing himself to get lost in the task.

Soon they were within a hundred yards of shore. From here he could see the gaping hole of a tunnel awaiting them. His muscles burned with exhaustion. Though it didn't look or sound like it, rowing was hard work.

A ripple in the water grabbed his gaze and he looked sharply to the water. The black of its depths gave nothing away as he studied it. Another ripple, this time proceeded by a splash and a flash of white.

"What's out there?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else. He cut his gaze quickly to Potter, making sure the other was alright. Though Potter looked terrified and was trying to curl in on himself there was nothing new wrong with him, or nothing threatening him.

He looked back to the inky lake, which had returned to a state of a black hole. Nothing stirred. A sharp cry came from the right and the boat rocked, hit by something unseen. He pulled the oars inside the boat, not wanting to drop them in the water, and stared at the lake near the spot he thought the thing hit.

"Do you know what's down there?" he asked, shooting a look at Potter, who nodded ans squeezed his eyes closed. "Are they bad?" another nod. Damn…

He peered into the inky depths, trying to see something, anything, but to no avail. It was a hopeless cause. His nose hung less than half an inch from the water, his eyes nearly watering from trying to see into something you couldn't. It was like being caught in a hole in the ground, being caught somewhere where no one would or could hear your screams.

Gooseflesh broke out over him as his thoughts forced unwanted fears upon him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his hands felt clammy. He took a deep breath, flooding his air with oxygen that was lost the next second as a face appeared before his, grabbing a scream from him.

He jerked up, heart hammering, but the face was gone. The face, or the face the person had belonged to, had been dead, he knew that much. Those eyes, those flat brown eyes, held the grey of death. The pale skin, slightly melted by the water, proved it too. Yet… he recognized that face. It had been a Slytherins, two years younger than him. An Italian named Romero. During his third year that boy had followed him around quite often, like an eager puppy. What in the world was Romero doing here?

He shook his head clear of all distractions; they had to get to that tunnel. He had no idea what these corpses were or what they wanted to do and he sure as hell did not want to find out.

Grabbing the oars out he once again began to row, forcing his back into it. He watched as Potter kept looking into the water with a mixed expression of fear and an unbearable sadness. He suspected that Potter knew something about those corpses, but they had no time to play twenty questions at the moment. Instead, he ducked his head and rowed harder than ever.

Only twenty feet from shore the boat was hit again, rocking dangerously and forcing him to lose the right oar into the depths of the lake. He threw the remaining oar into the boat and grabbed onto the side of the boat, trying to keep his balance. A quick glance told him Potter was alright, shaken, but still alive.

A hand sprang free of its icy grave and lurched at him. He gave a cry of surprise and fell back, falling into the boat and hitting his head painfully on the other side. Something warm trickled down his right ear and he gritted his teeth, if that was blood…

The boat jolted again, this time practically sending him toppling into the lake. He hung on for dear life to the opposite side, riding out the attack, and was relieved to see Potter doing the same. A hand found purchase in his hair and he screamed in pain as it yanked. He lashed out with his hands, nails slicing into flesh. The hand released its hold and he drew away from the sides, into the middle, grabbing the oar in the process. As another hand snaked towards Potter he bore down on it with the oar, hearing the sickening crunch of bone. There was no time to contemplate victory for another hand was already creeping his way. He batted this one away too, blocking out the thud of flesh on wood. He glanced over at Potter to see if anything was threatening the other, only to find Potter pointing frantically with what was left of his index finger behind him. He turned just in time to see a corpse pulling themselves up onto the boat.

This time it was a girl with the Ravenclaw set of robes. He seemed to remember her from a class they had together once upon a time, was it History…

He jerked himself out of it, this was no time for reminisces. He closed his eyes and gave a silent apology as he swung at her. The shudder that ran through his arms made it impossible for him to forget what he had done.

Upon opening his eyes he saw no more immediate threats and put his remaining oar to work. He was thrown forward as they hit shore. He quickly stood and hopped out, dragging the boat further onto shore.

"Come on Potter," he said. "Hurry," Potter did exactly as he was told, jumping out of the boat, wincing slightly, and hurried to his side.

He wondered what to do with the boat, unsure if the corpses could come on shore if it was there. He decided to push back into the lake. As he made to do so something grabbed his ankle. To his horror a pale hand was wrapped around his ankle, and slowly growing more purchase. He tried to pull his leg free but the hand had a death grip. His foot dipped into the water and another hand got ahold of him.

"Damnit," he yelled, pulling with all his might. He gave a mighty tug, which landed him on the floor, hitting his arm hard. Water now soaked his trousers as he was steadily drawn in. Maybe this was how the others came to be. Maybe there was only one corpse and the others were all dragged in. The water was now to his chest, his hands scrambled across loose pebbles, finding no purchase. This was it, this was the end. The water rose higher and higher. His chin dipped into the water, followed by his mouth, nose, eyes, and then it was all black.

He hung, suspended in the water. No hands grabbed at him, no corpses swam before him. Everything was a deafening black. He had no sight, no sound, nothing. Already, the madness was setting, and he began to lose who he was. No feeling reached him, no matter how hard he tried to move. Vaguely he remembered a lesson on torture his father had forced him to learn. There was one where they put people underwater, keeping them alive, but giving them none of their senses. A dark spell did such a thing. Eventually, the victim went mad, unable to know who they were. He knew that it worked quickly, but never this quick.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't move his lips. Did he even have lips? Had he ever had lips? He didn't know. He couldn't feel his lips so that must mean that he didn't have lips, right? He tried to think of something else, only to find he couldn't remember anything other than black. A numbing black that stole over him. Him, who was him? He was Draco Malfoy… or was he? What was Draco Malfoy? Did Draco Malfoy even exist, or was that thing just a figment of his imagination? Was anything real? Real, what the hell was real? There was nothing, which meant nothing could be real? If nothing was real, then what was he…?

Shortly after that all thoughts ceased and he became nothing more than the darkness.


	4. Come Find Me

_Reviews and favs are soooo desired! Please, tell me how I am doing on the horror concept of this. I promise, it does it get worse as it goes on, so, beware and such, alright~!^^ Have fun reading!_

They floated, moving with the current within the blackness. They were nothing, they were nowhere, yet they were everything, they were anything. They felt the last of them being swallowed up by the darkness, but they weren't scared, it was calming to be something greater than yourself. Yet, something nagged at him, something that he couldn't quite remember, not that they could remember anything else either… Now, what was it?

A sudden flash of dancing green eyes, alive with adventure with a dash of charm followed by a quick smirk. Did that smirk match those eyes? They hoped it did, that smirk would look good with those eyes.

The eyes replaced by another pair. It was the same eyes, but they were no longer happy. The left one remained close and the right one held a hint of red and wavered with tears. Such despair and hopelessness filled those eyes that they felt choked with some form of emotions. Make them go away, they begged, they didn't want to see such eyes look so sad that had once been so happy.

Their wish was granted and the eyes were replaced by a black haired boy. The boy was smiling like he had not a care in the world. It was the boy with the eyes! Those green eyes were alive and shimmering. That hair was strewn in a mess of black locks that seemed to defy gravity in back. A red haired boy and a bushy haired girl were next to him. This boy faded into an older version of himself. This time the boy was laughing! The other two were with him again and this time the read head boy had an arm slung around the green eyed boy. A strong emotion surged within them. They didn't know what it was. All emotions seemed to falling off of them, no more words seemed attached to their meaning.

The black haired boy was back. This time he wasn't smiling. Instead he looked solemn, as though the weight of the world was on him. Those eyes were set in determination and burned with a fire from within. Soot smeared on his face, and though he should have been dirty, it just made him look breathtaking. More emotions broke from the cage they had shut away in and flooded through them.

The boy was replaced again. He was chained this time; those green eyes were the same eyes he had seen before, that he had willed away. The boy was nothing more than a walking skeleton. What had happened to him? They wanted to make the image go away. They used to be able to do that, but they couldn't remember how. Did it have something to do with eyes? Did they used to have eyes?

The broken boy was still there, trembling. They wanted to comfort him, but they didn't know how. All they wanted to do was be with that boy and chase away those dark emotions swirling in the boys eyes. They wanted to make the boy smile, even if it took a lifetime of trying; they just wanted to see the boy smile again.

Wait, maybe they could. Didn't they used to have a body? They wondered if they were a girl or a boy. They were okay with both, yet they leaned more towards a girl; it would be nice to give themselves to the green eyed boy, maybe that would make him happy. Still, a boy could do the same thing; it just would be a bit different…

They shook their head, wait, head; they used to have a head! Did they used to be human too? Oh, they so dearly wished so. They tried to focus on themselves, but found the memories slipping even further away. Instead they focused on the boy. It seemed that the boy triggered some of their memories.

The boy was smiling again, cut up and bruised, but still smiling. A swarm of people stood behind him, cheering. A few people came up to hug the boy, others just wept with giant smiles plastered on their face. A voice yelling turned their and the boy's head.

"Harry!" it was a girl with fiery red hair and freckles of the yin yang.

"Ginny!" the boy, Harry, exclaimed. Both of them ran at the other, before dissolving into a mess of hugs and kisses. Jealousy boiled up within them. What gave this girl, Ginny, the right to Harry!?

Harry… the name snagged on a thought. Harry… wait, Harry Potter…? Yes, it must be Harry Potter. As a child their father always used to tell them about Harry Potter, the boy who lived.

Their father, they could see their father. Cold eyes, pale blonde hair, cruel smile, Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy! Were they a… Malfoy? Well, they must be for their father was a Malfoy. What was their first name?

The boy was back, this time young. He looked scared and frightened, yet excited all at the same time. He stood among robes, looking nervously up at a slightly plump witch. Standing on a pedestal getting fitted for a robe was a pale blonde boy with steel eyes and a slightly pinched face.

"By the way," the pale boy was saying. "My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"Harry," the green eyed boy managed to get out before Draco had walked away.

Was that really them? That rude, pale haired boy? Wait, they were a boy! They had a name. Draco Malfoy… it was odd, yet it seemed to fit like a glove. Familiar and alien all at the same time.

Now that they… he thought about it, wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing? Something that involved Harry…?

Another image of the broken Harry swam before him. Yes, he had to do something with Harry, but what was it. Those green eyes were staring at him with intensity, urging him on. Harry, Harry, Harry… Harry was… waiting for him! Harry was waiting for him; he had to rescue Harry from wherever they were.

Steel grey eyes flashed open in murky darkness. Pale corpses lay before him, jerking in a dark dance causing limbs to shudder, eyes to flutter, and skin to crawl. A scream arrived in the form of bubbles that disappeared to the surface. He turned his eyes upwards, to where a faint light shone, and pushed off from the bottom. The light grew as he swam closer. Soon, his lungs began to burn and his vision faltered. The light urged him on but the lack of oxygen threatened to stop him. So close, just a bit more… the light began to fade. Was he sinking or were his eyes just closing? He couldn't tell. He pushed on though, not giving up to defeat. The darkness pulsed; the light was no more. Crap, this couldn't be the end, it couldn't. He felt heavy. The want to give up nearly overwhelmed him but he pushed on. This couldn't be the end; he wouldn't let this be the end. There was still so much he had to say.

Everything seemed to fade away as he fell back into the clutches of the black. This couldn't be the end… this couldn't… this was…

The icy air was a slap in the face as he broke through the surface. His eyes sprang open and he gulped in oxygen. The shore was only a few feet away from him and he paddled to it weakly. After pulling himself onto a dry surface he flopped down on his back to catch his breath, closing his eyes in bliss. He had made it, he had actually made it!

A curious green eye met him as he reopened his. A sudden yelp gave away his surprise before he realized who it was.

"Hey Harry," he said, sitting up, letting the casual use of the first name slip out again. A sudden blush overtook him as he remembered those thoughts he had, those horrible disturbing thoughts… He shook his head roughly and cleared his voice.

"How long was I under?" he asked, fighting down his blush and putting on a poker face as he looked back at H-Potter.

Potter held up three of what remained of his fingers. "Three days!?" he exclaimed. Potter nodded. "Shit, sorry," he said, running a hand through his wet hair. He stood and looked down at Potter. It was then, amidst all the confusing running through his head, that he realized Potter was still naked. Fuck… and not in a good way!

He tore his eyes away and looked around for his bag. It was lying on the ground, near the boat. He grabbed it and pulled out his lab coat; he had taken it off in the Aurors steaming office. Potter studied him in confusion and fear.

"Here," he offered the coat to Potter. "Cover yourself with this." Potter looked down, as though just realizing that there were no clothes present. He wished Potter wouldn't do that, it drew too much attention to things he would rather forget…

Potter put on the coat, hugging the folds shut. He nodded his approval, that was much better.

"Let's get over to that tunnel, get under some form of cover. Maybe we'll find a room to hunker down in." he said hopefully, slinging his bag over his shoulder and setting off. A quick glance back showed Potter still on the ground, looking miserable and dejected. He hurried back over, kneeling by the other. Potter flinched, but not as bad as before, seeming subdued.

"Hey," he said gently. "What's wrong?"

Potter looked up with that devastated eye before turning it back down. Potter's lips moved, mouthing something he didn't catch.

"Come again?" he asked. Potter looked up sheepishly, seeming frightened, before mouthing 'food'.

He had to think for a moment before putting it together. Potter was already a stick and since he had been gone that meant Potter hadn't eaten in three days. Cursing himself for not thinking about this earlier he threw open his bag and grabbed out a bag. He had packed a lunch and dinner when he had gone with the Aurors, not sure how long it would take. Wow, that mission seemed like a forever ago. A flash of blood and the remains of one of the Aurors ran through his mind and he shuddered.

He opened the bag and made to take something about before pausing. Then he looked up at Potter in bewilderment.

"Didn't you take anything from my bag?" he asked, almost demanded. Potter winced and shook his head, not making eye contact. "You were starving and you didn't look through my bag at all for food?" A nod this time. "Do you want to die?"

A shrug…

"Potter…" he sighed. He grabbed out a sandwich and handed it to the starving boy. "Eat,"

Potter hesitated for a moment, staring at the sandwich. Potter slowly set it on his leg and took out the ham, setting that aside before eating the rest of the sandwich. He cocked his head in puzzlement, what was Potter doing? Even after Potter had finished the sandwich the ham went untouched.

"Potter, aren't you going to eat that?" he gestured to the forgotten food. Potter shook his head, a trill of fear running through that green eye. "Why?" another shrug, this time followed by a bitten lip and an eye that looked as though it was trying to recall something that it couldn't.

He sighed and put the meat in a baggie, better not let it go to waste. He stood again, this time followed by a very shaky Potter.

"You need help?" he asked. "I could carry you if you want." More fear danced in green eyes, and a quick yet violent head shake gave him his answer. "If you say so. We'll just go over to the tunnel, get out of this room, and set up camp for the night." Potter nodded.

Together they made their way to the tunnel. It took much longer than it should have but that was okay, as far as he was concerned they had all the time in the world. Upon reaching the tunnel Potter collapsed against a wall. He checked to make sure the other was okay then began to set up wards.

He used every spell he could think of, including some dark spells. He knew dark magic was forbidden, but as far as he was concerned they were out in the middle of no man's land, he had no idea what the hell could attack, he was using every defense he had!

Once done with that he pulled everything hard and sharp from his bag and tossed it to Potter, who barely managed to catch it.

"Here, use this as a pillow; I'm going to take the first watch." Potter hesitated before nodding and lying down, hugging the bag as it became a makeshift pillow. It only took a few minutes before Potter had drifted off to sleep.

He stood and walked over to the tunnel, nothing. He went the opposite way, making sure that nothing would jump out of the shadows; once again, nothing. He began turn away when something caught his eye. He threw a glance at Potter and upon seeing the other boy sleeping peacefully he made his way closer.

This something was glinting red on the ground. He walked to the edge of the wards and came to a halt. Unable to see it with the dim light coming from the other end of the tunnel he pulled out his wand. Another glance was thrown at Potter, making sure he was asleep, and then the tip of his wand came alive with light from the magic of an unspoken spell.

A gasp announced his surprise at his findings. His wand quivered in his hand as sudden flashes of the past came to him. It had to be a coincidence, it had too, yet…who else would ever know?

He squeezed his eyes shut yet the words that were written in the red of blood still lingered.

_Come find me_


	5. The Boy Who Lived

_Hey Everyone, look I'm back! Sorry, but my comp had a failed suicide attempt, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down, so yeah...^^' I had to wait to steal my parents comp to type this and with moving (for the 2cd time in less than 6 months) and school, AP test, college, the sorts, it's been hard to find the time to write. Well, I hope this makes it up and I shall 'hopefully' be updating more than every 6 months. Without further ado, Chapter 5!_

_p.s. Sorry if the writing style has changed some, I was trying to be more detailed and add more thoughts in there. ^^'_

Draco took a deep breath, forcing the fear that threatened to choke him back down. Eyes fluttered shut as he carefully locked all emotions away. He was not that weak nineteen year old that freaked out about over such things. What was of the past could stay in the past. A frantic pulse slowly subdued. Gray eyes flashed open, holding the color of dull concrete, showing no emotion.

Swiftly he returned to his pacing, eyes always skimming over the bloody words. His footsteps echoed in the small cavern, his constant companion. Occasionally he would check on Potter, making sure that he was still breathing, but never daring to touch the other. He understood that sometimes touch was too much, that sometimes even a gentle touch could break you apart.

A quick tempus charmed showed the passing of several hours. Exhausted and tired, but not yet able to find comfort in sleep, he slummed against the wall opposite of the boy who lived. As he stared at the other he finally allowed his thoughts to intermingle with a controlled amount of emotions as he assessed the situation.

He had been brought here for an unknown reason, kept alive while the Aurors perished. The sickening crack of bone and sprays of blood still haunted his senses. A small tremor was the only indication that he actually had been disturbed by the event as he thought it over.

He had been knocked out by some form of magic, and then had woken here. Wherever here was, he mused looking at the stone corridor. He looked closer, trying to decide whether this place had been made naturally or if magic had carved it out. Slowly, he stalked to the edge of his wards and stared out to the black lake. Nothing disturbed the surface, turning it into a mirror of black. His eyes flitted along the ceiling, which was almost too high to see, and the rocky edges along the lake. The cavern seemed natural, but the corridor, he cast another glance around him, seemed to be a mixture of magic and nature.

His eyebrows furrowed and he strode back to his seat, sliding gracefully to the floor as his thoughts chased each other. A glance at Potter brought a new thought to the forefront of his mind.

Death Eaters avenging the death of the Dark Lord had obviously kidnapped Potter; why else would somebody kidnap the boy who lived. That didn't explain why Potter was still alive. The signs of torture that the boy showed were almost expected now that he thought about it. Potter had killed the Dark Lord and all and there were a few Death Eaters still free who wanted to hurt Potter the same way he had hurt them. That didn't explain why Potter was still alive. He couldn't think of a single Death Eater that wasn't behind bars who would go through so much trouble to make Potter's life a living hell before killing him. Some preliminary torture, perhaps a few rapes, was given, but torturing Potter to the extent he was and not killing him, that was odd. Especially since there was no way Potter would still be alive unless someone was keeping him alive. If Potter had simply gone through that amount of torture with no magically assistance after words he would surely be dead. Besides, someone had not only tortured Potter, but had dome so in a semi appealing matter, like some form of demented fetish. Maybe an obsessed fan had kidnapped Potter rather than Death Eaters. That would explain why the boy was still alive. Still, it was hard to think that a fan had done this to Potter; it would be an impossible concept if he hadn't had a similar experience.

He shook his head with a growl, he was not thinking about that, not here, not now. He could deal with his own problems in the safety of his house. Leaning his head against the wall he stared at Potter a few minutes longer, taking time to fully take in the blood, bruises, and scars that coated his body, making a mental note to patch him up later.

Slowly, he turned his head to each side, wondering just how to get out. His best option was to follow the corridor and hope that they would come out somewhere. This was probably some underground hideaway the came out at some cliff side. He entertained the thought of apparition but gave it up quickly. There was the slight tingle of magic over skin that told him that trying to apparate would be impossible. Besides, Potter would be too weak to undergo such a strong pull of magic.

He had only closed his eyes for moment, which had fluttered shut in the face of weariness, before rustling brought them open again. He watched with evaluating eyes as Potter woke. The boy was clumsy and jerky, as though he did not possess full control of his limbs. A trembling hand wiped sleep from closed eyes before one opened, fixated on him, and froze. Fear reared its ugly head in those green depths, making them waver.

"Morning Potter," Draco said conversationally, ignoring as said boy flinched at the sound. He stood and stretched his arms above his head before turning back to Potter.

"How about some food and then getting out of here?" he asked. Potter bowed his head, shoulders trembling. He fought the urge to tilt his head in confusion. Did something he said trigger this reaction? His eyebrows gave a little jump and he squared his shoulders as he tried to put on a friendly face. If Potter was going to flinch at everything he said this was going to be hard.

"Also, I was thinking about cleaning your wounds up a bit, to make sure they won't get infected or anything." He said this offhandedly, watching Potters reaction from the corner of his eye. Potter winced and withdrew into himself, trying to hide away, while a green eye flickered in fear and horror. Shudders racketed the boy's frame and his breathing sped up, almost hyperventilating.

He stopped pretending not to be and stared at the boy all out as he had a silent panic attack. Briefly, he entertained the thought of intervening, perhaps talking to Potter, but such thoughts were quickly dismissed. Let Potter have his panic attack, pass out, and then come around in a hopefully calmer state. Panic attacks weren't so bad, scary and frightening, but usually for the better, he knew from experience. So he leaned back against the wall and watched as Potter's trembling and rapid breathing escalated until he went slack, eyes falling shut, slumping against the cool ground.

He cast another tempus charm. His head did a little jiggle as he quickly did the math, estimating that he had been down here for roughly ten or so hours. Wait, there were those three days he was in the lack. All right, scratch that, three days and ten hours. Meaning he hadn't eaten in… yeah, three days and ten hours. Lovely, no wonder his stomach was hosting an orchestra.

A quick charm brought his bag to his outstretched hand. His dinner and the slice of meat remained, thankfully none of it spoiled. He started with the ham, glad when it soothed his starved stomach, and sat back down, content with watching Potter slowly come back to life.

"Done now?" he asked briskly as the boy revived himself.

Potter threw a frightened glance at him, taking a shuddering breath to subdue himself. A much better reaction.

He grabbed the bread from his dinner and tossed it at Potter, who flinched and dropped it.

"What happened to your 'holy' quidditch skills?" he asked, half teasing half concerned. Potter might be clumsy, but he never dropped a well-aimed throw, and his throw qualified as such. He was glad that he had kept the bread in the bag.

Potter shrugged and despondently grabbed the bread. He watched as Potter ate, grimacing with every swallow.

"Does your throat hurt?" he asked, unable to help it as he fell into his work persona. Potter didn't look up as he responded with a shrug. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched the boy. Unconsciously, he reached for his bag. As he opened it the reassuring clink of potions answered him.

He waited somewhat patiently for Potter to finish eating, his foot tapping out a steady rhythm on the stone floor. At first Potter tensed at the sound but he slowly relaxed as it carried on at a constant beat. The moment the last bit of bread was swallowed with a small wince he began to ply the other with questions.

"What hurts the most?" Potter shrugged. "Is anything broken?" another shrug. "What is the last injury received?" a bit of the lip. "Are you going to answer any of my questions?" nothing. Lovely.

"Potter, you need to answer my question the best you can. I am a healer, I can help you." He tried, using the voice he used on his most difficult patients; one made of honey and flowed smoothly in a reassuring matter. "The more that you help me the more I can help you. I know what I'm doing."

Potter threw a look at him, an echo of suspicion hiding, almost as though the actual emotion had been lost. Still, it was more emotion he had seen so far that wasn't fear. It was a start.

"Potter," he thought about his question. "How long have you been here?"

Potter froze before his eye closed. Four shaky remnants of fingers crept into view.

"Four weeks?" he asked. Black hair swayed side to side in a no. "Four months?" another negative. He took a deep breath before asking again. "Four years?" a pause, then a small nod of the head. "Are you sure?" he couldn't help but ask, not wanting to believe that Potter had been here and abused for four years. Four months he could see, but what sort of demented individual could and would torture the boy who lived for four years. A Death Eater would have killed him; a fan would have gotten bored of him, who else could have done this.

Potter gave another weak glare, this time a soft echo of anger. Pale arms thrust out, showing the underside. Cuts covered them in an orderly fashion. They didn't cross as many self inflicted cuts did; instead they looked deliberate, like a calendar. All of them were gathered into bunched of four with the fifth a diagonal line holding them together. The partially skinned arm showed evidence of the same treatment. Those lines, all those jagged lines of red, they weren't, they couldn't be, Harry wouldn't, would he…?

"Are those…?" he trailed off, forcing himself to swallow and regain his composure. "Are each one of those a day you have been in here?"

Potter dropped his head again, arms curling around his waist, and all the answer that was needed. His eyes skimmed Potter's arms again. That was far more than four years, he noted as he saw that the red lines covered a layer of scars.

He tore his eyes away, shaking his head softly to get himself together.

"Okay Potter, what hurts the most right now?" he asked, scared for the answer. He suspected that Potter would either gesture to the missing ear or semi skinned arm, instead catching him by surprise by running a hand over his ribs.

"Does your chest hurt or your ribs?" he asked, wanting to clarify and make sure he was not mistaken. Potter ran a hand over his ribs again. "Your ribs?" a nod.

He grabbed his bag and took a couple of steps towards Potter, who flinched but didn't react too badly. He knelt, only a couple of feet away from the other, trying to catch his eye.

"H-Potter," he said, catching himself in time to stop the casual use of his first name. "Can I look at your ribs? I might be able to make the pain go away if you let me." Once again he spoke with a soft voice, keeping movement to a minimum as not to frighten Potter.

A fear filled green eye searched his. He stared back, letting warmth and reassurance show in his eyes. Potter hesitated, closing his eye before reopening it. Slowly, he moved his arms from his middle, the only show of acceptance.

"Thank you," he murmured, carefully moving closer. Potter stiffened, his breath hitching. He began humming quietly under his breath, something that generally calmed patients. Potter didn't give much indication as to whether or not the humming helped, but he allowed Draco to slowly feel his ribs, ghosting over the area with his fingertips.

Draco sat back on his heels and ran a hand over Harry's ribcage again. Harry had several bones missing, or fragments of bones. He grabbed his wand; planning doing a couple of diagnostic spells, only to freeze when Potter's mouth turn into the shape of a scream and his other eye to fly open, sending waves of magic crashing over his faces as scales and hidden designs glimmered, nearly matching the pattern on his legs. Hastily he hid his wand in his bag, holding his hands up to show no harm.

"Harry," he said, not caring about formality at the moment. "Shhh, calm down. My wands gone, I'm not going to use it. Everything is alright." He continued to whisper promises of reassurance until Harry's eye closed once more and his mouth shut. Pointed fangs chewed nervously on a cracked lip, making Draco fear that blood would be drawn.

"Harry, I'm going to disinfect your ribcage then bandage it up so it can heal quicker." He said, letting Potter know his intentions. Potter nodded with a fearful air. He fetched the supplies from his bag and did as he said, murmuring to Potter the whole time, making sure the other knew exactly what he was doing.

It was in this fashion that he managed to patch up the rest of Potter. Though Potter never relaxed at the touch of hands or the close proximity to each other, he allowed it and that was better than Draco had hoped. He had begun to worry that he could need to stun the boy and fix him up then.

The moment he finished with the last of the bandages Potter pulled away with the soft glow of hostility in his eyes. He got the message and backed away, grabbing his bag as he stood.

"You alright to walk?" he asked. Potter struggled to his feet, using the wall as a support. "You need help?" he asked, knowing that Potter would reject the offer, and was confirmed by the firm shake of a tousled black head.

Potter took a few experimental steps. He hovered at a safe distance, far enough away that he would scare Potter and close enough to swoop in and catch Potter if he was to fall. A slight limp and shaky legs but Potter was able to walk at a steady pace as long as the wall was there to support him. Assured that Potter wouldn't crumple to the ground he faced the dark of the tunnel.

As he did so the tunnel became alive with the light of flickering torches. He took a startled breath and heard Potter do the same. He cut a quick glance at Potter to make sure the other was all right. Potter had paled and a small trembling made the thin body waver. In the light he could now see just how frail and venerable Potter looked, swathed in enough bandages to give him the appearance of a mummy and pale enough to look like a wrath.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin in a very Slytherin manner.

"You ready to go?" he shot Potter a self-assured smirk, a smirk he hadn't worn since the end of the war. A flicker of the old Potter shook a green eye, followed by a small nod. As they began walking it seemed as though Potter was walking steadier than before, head a bit higher, steps a bit more sure.

Maybe the boy who lived wasn't as broken as he first thought?


	6. Fall To Pieces

The stone corridor coiled and curled in a mock imitation of a snake. In a silence broken only by the scuffling of feet and the huffs of breath the mismatched pair made their way steadily through the flickering firelight. Draco kept a close eye on Potter, ready to catch the broken man if necessary, but Potter held his own. After several hours of an eerie silence and long shadows Draco decided that a break was needed, especially for a wavering Potter.

He halted in the middle of the corridor. "Let's stop here, I need to rest," he lied for Potter's sake, knowing that even hinting at Potter's incompetence might cause Potter to regress.

Potter shot him a look, one hinting at a softer emotion, most likely gratitude, but he couldn't be sure. Instead he stretched, sending his arms above his head, and lowered himself onto a cold floor. Potter followed in his stead, sitting with a slight grimace. He longed to whip out his wand and cast a few healing charms, a couple of diagnostic charms to see what was wrong, make a few potions, and ultimately heal the broken man across the hall, but he couldn't, not until Potter got over his fear of wands and/or magic. A sigh escaped his lips as he wondered for the hundredth time what he had gotten himself into. He didn't think he wanted to know. He would get Potter out of here safe and sound, hopefully within the next few hours, and take him to St. Mungo's, where the healer could patch him up and the mind healers would do there damage.

He bit his lip as anxiety coiled in his stomach. So far he had found a broken Potter, a lake full of dead, and a message that looked as though it knew about his past, yet the one responsible hadn't come into the picture. If someone had gone through all of the trouble to spend a fucking four years torturing the Boy Who Lived they would keep their 'prey' at all cost, right? So, where were they…?

Not wanting to psych himself out any more he shook his head and turned his thoughts away from that train of thoughts. Instead he shot a glance at Potter, who was leaning against the wall, a thin veil of perspiration covering his forehead, hands trembling slightly.

"You all right Potter?" he asked. He waited for the scornful look he was sure he would have gotten if he had asked thee question while they were still in school, but instead he got a small shrug and closed eyes.

"You hungry?" he asked, trying a different tack. This time a nod became his answer. He grabbed a muffin from the bag and-remembering this morning's incident- slowly walked over and set it down next to Potter. Another nod followed, this time of thanks, and a mutilated hand reached out to snare the breakfast pastry.

Slowly, aware that he was pushing his luck, he sat down. Potter watched him closely, no emotions reflected in the single green eye. He studied the other from the corner of his eye, gauging the reaction. Though Potter tensed a bit, no panic attack or full blown terror ensured. He cast a small smile to Potter, hoping to ease the other mans nerves, before settling down in a semi-comfortable position and laying his head against the wall, finding a subdued interest in the ceiling.

The idea of sleep tantalized him, reminding him of his all nighter and previous sleep deprivations. He knew he couldn't spare sleep now, but the idea was a good one, and one he entertained for a few minutes before he became aware of soft rustling. He cracked an eye open that found the other man, who was standing and looking anxious to go. Sighing, he got to his feet, wishing for just a few more minutes of rest.

"Do you know a way out of here?" he asked, careful not to come to close to the other man. Potter hesitated before shaking his head. Another sigh before he shrugged and shook his head roughly to clear the cobwebs from his thoughts.

"Ready to go?" A nod answer.

He headed off, making sure Potter followed. As they continued he began to despair, only his tight self control keeping it from showing. There was no entrance, no turn offs, no splits in path, nothing. It was like they were walked in circles, yet they were going straight. It was infuriating. Anxiety crept back into his stomach as another thought struck him. What if the corridor was enchanted, forcing whoever walked them to go round and round until they died? What if they were walking through the same corridor over and over and over and over again? Panic began to grip his thoughts, sending small tremors through his hands. The fate of dying in this barren place, never to see the sun again, stuck underground, in a near dark, lost… it was a Hell he had experienced. It was a nightmare he relived too many nights. It was a reality that happened only a few short years ago. It might be reality…

Unable to stop these thoughts anymore, unable to keep himself together as the past blended with reality, he sank to the floor, trying to control his breathing. He was faintly aware of Potter stopping to look at him with fear, he was faintly aware of the cold stone and sharp rocks digging into his knees, he was faintly aware of the sharp whistle of his ragged breathing, and yet he was unable to change any of it. Memories, ones that he had tried so hard to drown in work and for a while medication, came rushing back. Dark shadows danced on the wall as another body withered. Cold stone bit through his skin, dragging blood from the safety of their home. Sweaty hands, harsh and demanding, yanked and grabbed at him, tearing at clothes, hair, and skin. He tried to scream, but something had been stuffed in his mouth, forcing him to snatch labored breathes through his nose, and hold back waves of saliva that tried to flood his mouth and drown him. Black teased the edges of his vision, a desperate wish that refused to come true. A hot body forced its way onto him. Pain blossomed and blood ran through the path of destruction the hands left. He was suddenly thrown onto his stomach, face pressed against the cold floor, a single rock digging into his cheek, threatening to break the skin.

Too hot hands continued their rampage. They caressed, hurt, damaged him as the owner of those hands had his fun, finding pleasure and release in his pain and suffering. When the hands where done they left. A door closed, a lock bolted, and he was left alone in the dark. Dried cum and blood coated his legs, scratches and bruises covered his body, cold numbed everything, and all he was left with was the memory of burning hands, making him feel unclean and vile. Tears welled and fell down his cheeks. Sobs threatened to choke him, but at the moment he couldn't care, it hurt too much to care. And besides, death would be a blessing by this point. The darkness that had been teasing earlier came for him, dragging him away from all the pain and suffering, and he followed gratefully.

Hands rested on his hair. He flinched, waiting for the pain sure to come. Instead the hands whispered frantically through the soft strands, tugging gently, but not painfully. As the fear slowly subsided he was able to tell that these hands were different. They weren't the sweaty hot slabs of meat that hurt and humiliated him. These hands were warm and slightly ragged. They were timid and scared, but still gentle, though speaking of urgency. Something was wrong with them though. He could only feel the palm and the beginning of the fingers, as though someone was their fingers up. But that was a rather odd thing to do, especially since fingertips held the most sensitive nerves that feed the sense of touch. Then why would they only use their palm, unless… they didn't have fingers…

The haze of the past lifted, shoving him into the harsh reality that faced him. Upon opening his eyes he saw Potter, eye frantic, and clawing at his hair in a desperate attempt to wake him. Tears threatened to overwhelm the green eye, fear shook the thin body, and desperation forced touch. He felt the overpowering need to yank away from the touch, to curl in on himself, protect himself. Yet, the shock of seeing Potter touch someone willing held him still. A hand hesitantly, yet determinedly glided down to his cheek. Harry's face, for it was impossible to refer to the other as Potter at such a moment, drew closer as the hand softly tried to shake him awake.

Harry caught sight of his open eyes. He waited, breath drawn, wondering what the others reaction would be. Shock became his reaction as tears swept down Harry's face and a small body collapsed, forcing him to hurry into a half sitting position to catch the other. He wrapped his arms around the other, body tensing at the sensation of being so close to someone, but not cruel enough to pull away. Harry had gone through unspeakable horrors, who was he to deny him such a simple comfort of touch, even if that was the last comfort he wanted to give.

What seemed like hours later, though it was only a few minutes, Harry pulled away. He hid his sigh of relief, not wanting to show his discomfort and risk hurting Harry.

"Sorry," he mumbled, staring at the ground in front of him as he moved into an upright position. The horror of what had just happened slowly washed over him. He had a flashback and a panic attack in front of a man who had just been tortured for four years. The last flashback he had had was seven months ago. He though they were gone…

A touch on his cheek made him wince, but the touch was persistent, the hand dragging his chin up to face the other. He reluctantly looked at the other, eyes locking upon a green one. Thin, cracked, and harshly bitten lips mouthed something, forcing his gaze to concentrate on them.

"_Thank you,'_ they read. And that was all that was needed before he collapsed into sobs.


End file.
